


Rotten

by KamikazeSoundSociety



Series: The Depravity Series [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Feminization, M/M, Mads Mikkelsen as Grindelwald, Multi, Nipple Play, Rough Sex, Voyeurism, or literally anyone else I don't even care just not Depp, who the fuck cast Johnny Depp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamikazeSoundSociety/pseuds/KamikazeSoundSociety
Summary: Mr Graves has something he wants to show Credence, lies honey-slick and thick on his tongue.





	Rotten

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Rotten 腐爛](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097067) by [jls20011425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jls20011425/pseuds/jls20011425)



> Over at [my tumblr](http://kamikazesoundsociety.tumblr.com/), I asked people to send me the kinkiest prompts they could think of. This is a reply to the following prompt:
>
>> Regarding Grindelgraves and Credence - Grindelwald taking Percival in an alley (disguised or not, you choose) and making Credence watch.
> 
> This is straight up Dark with a capital D. 

Mr Graves’ leather gloves slide against Credence’s numb fingers as he tugs him along. “Come, Credence,” he says, his words bitten away by the wind. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Credence stumbles along behind him. A good dozen of his pamphlets slip from his grasp and into the gutter, swirled away by filthy water. Caught by Mr Graves’ punishing grip, he can’t turn back to pick them up. In the half-light of the streetlamps, he sees that his gloves shine wetly where he’s got Credence’s hand in his; Credence’s wounds have reopened, and the blood has stained Mr Graves’ leather gloves.

The set of Mr Graves’ jaw is sharp, angry, impatient. They are emotions Credence can read easily, hear in the swish of his overcoat, see in the throw of his shoulders. But there is something else curling beneath the edges of the man’s lips, emotions Credence has no experience with. A fierce, smug sort of joy. He looks like a predator, Credence thinks, who has finished toying with his prey and has only just decided he’s ready to devour it.

Mr Graves disappears down the familiar narrow alley they meet every Thursday morning. He lets go of Credence’s hand so suddenly the boy stumbles and catches himself against the wall. The rough brick tears open the scabs and Credence’s breath explodes from his chest in an aborted gasp. Mr Graves doesn’t turn back to look at him, but stalks on ahead.

“Mr – Mr Graves, sir?” Credence asks nervously. “Is it m-m-magic?”

Mr Graves looks back at him and smiles.  “Oh yes, magic,” he says. “Of a sort.” He turns away again and calls out. “Percy? Percy, dear,” he says, sing-song. “I brought along a friend for you to play with. Come out, you know it’s rude to keep me waiting.”

Credence glances around, but the alleyway seems quite empty besides he and Mr Graves. _Vaudeville!_ announces a poster above his head. The actress smiles down at him, smile splitting her face in two. He’s about to open his mouth to ask Mr Graves when a shimmer catches his eye – like the pavement shimmering in the summer heat, the brick wall ahead of him swims in and out of focus.

“Oh!” he cries, pointing. “What – “

“Ah- _hah_ ,” Mr Graves says, and his hand closes around a shoulder that wasn’t there before, hauling another man forward. The man swears, long and loud, fists coming up in a wide swing but Mr Graves ducks. The man wrenches back, heaving himself away from Mr Graves but Mr Graves is faster; he laughs delightedly even as the man kicks out, scrabbling in his grip.

“Bastard,” the man hisses and he spits right into Mr Graves’ face.

Credence cringes back, expecting him to explode with anger, but Mr Graves merely smiles. He raises his hand and delicately wipes his cheek. “Now then,” he says, sweetly, like he’s correcting a misbehaving pet, “that was uncalled for, wasn’t it?”

The man snarls and tries to twist away, but Mr Graves pins him fast against the wall. In that moment, he sees Credence and a look like vicious hope crosses his face. Behind his knife-sharp cheekbones and patchy beard, he looks familiar. “Run!” he shouts, voice bouncing off the alley walls. “Quick, get to MACUSA, tell them Grindelwald’s got me, I’m – “

Mr Graves clicks his tongue. “Oh no,” he says, amused. “You and Credence are both staying right here until you tell me the passcode to the safe in your office.” He turns to Credence and raises his hand and twists his wrist, fingers curling into his palm.

Credence finds himself suddenly frozen, feet stuck to the ground and his palm still flat against the wall, caught in an awkward half-crouch.

“Let him go,” the man snarls at Mr Graves, “he’s done nothing, he’s an innocent, he doesn’t have to see this.”

“Oh?” Mr Graves says. He shifts, one thigh coming between the man’s legs so he can better brace him between his hip and the wall. “And what will you give me if I let him go, Percy?”

The man – Percy – shakes his head. “I won’t – I won’t – “

Mr Graves sighs. “Shame,” he says, and then in a brutally efficient move he tears Percy’s shirt open, baring him throat to waist. Percy arches away, bowing into the wall, but there is nowhere for him to go.

Mr Graves leans forward, bracing one forearm across Percy’s throat. He has the other man pinned against the wall, nowhere for him to go, caught between the press of his hip between his leg and the pressure across his throat. Credence hears him gasp in a shaking, shuddering breath as Mr Graves sinks his palm into the flesh of his stomach, running up the length of his body, slow, heavy.

There is something so familiar in the way the back of Percy’s skull hits the wall, the way he clenches his jaw, eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. Credence has seen this before in a half-forgotten dream.

Mr Graves tugs on Percy’s nipple, rough and ungentle, rolling it between his fingertips. Percy’s body spasms and his face twists up into a grimace. “Ah, still sore, darling?” Mr Graves coos, and he redouble his efforts, pinching the span around his nipple, drawing the skin away from his body. “But I _do_ so love your lovely tits, Percy. Maybe I’ll Engorge them again, how does that sound? Won’t that look good? You love it when I fuck your tits, baby, I know how much you like how they bounce when I’m fucking you. Makes you come twice as hard, darling whore.”

Percy makes a choked noise and shuts his eyes. Mr Graves laughs meanly and releases his grip, raking his nails down Percy’s stomach to the clasp of his trousers. He toys with the button for a moment before pressing up, cupping palm hard between Percy’s legs.

“Slut,” he hisses, grinning, sharp and animalistic. Credence can see how his fingers curl, outlining the shape of Percy’s cock through his trousers. “Look at how hard you are for me, darling.”

Percy turns his head and his dark eyes meet Credence’s. There are tears in the corners of his eyes, and they spill over and roll down his face before he closes them again.

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Mr Graves says. He leans forward, bracing himself on his arm, and Percy’s breath supply is cut off. He keeps fondling between his legs, rubbing, stroking, smirking as his face grows darker and his hands come up to scrabble at Mr Graves’ forearm against his throat. When a vein in his forehead begins to pulse visibly he relents, pulling back and allowing him to gasp and choke on air.

“What do we say, Percy?” he asks, almost gently. Credence might be able to believe him if not for the way his fingers are curled around the other man’s cock through his trousers, grip so tight his knuckles are white in the twilight.

The revelation that Percy and Mr Graves are the same person hits Credence like a ton of bricks, forcing the breath out of him in an angry _whoosh_. Though Percy is thinner, and there’s a series of open scratches across his chest, and his hair is longer than Mr Graves’, there's no mistaking the resemblance. He’s dressed in rags, his shirt and trousers torn and stained with mud and what might be blood. Credence’s eyes skip between the two men. _Twins_? he wonders, but there is no way even twins could look so alike. _Magic,_ he realises, feeling sick. 

Percy shakes his head, says nothing. Mr Graves hums low but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he abruptly leaves go and turns to look at Credence, ignoring the man gasping for air.

Credence tries so shrink away, cowering beneath the laser focus of Mr Graves’ gaze. He’s still frozen on the spot, though, and the best he can manage is a slow blink. The man has never looked at him this way before; he feels like the layers of his soul are being peeled away, segments of an orange lain bare beneath Mr Graves’ eyes. Mr Graves smiles and Credence thinks of a shark, cold and hungry.

“ _Revelio_ ,” Mr Graves says, gesturing at himself. And then he waggles his fingers at Credence and says, “ _Luxuria_.”

Mr Graves’ face twists and Credence’s eyes widen as his skin melts away like a wax doll melting in the summer. He grows taller, his shoulders narrower, his cheekbones more pronounced. His eyes lighten, one the colour of mercury and the other a bright, startling violet. His hair is so blonde it could be white. His smile stays fixed through the transformation.

“Ah,” the man who is no longer Mr Graves says, rolling his shoulders and turning his head. His neck makes a loud _crack_ noise and he gusts a happy sigh. “That is _much_ better.”

Something hot is gathering beneath Credence’s breastbone, a terrible, burning hunger. A whimper escapes Credence’s throat. The man ignores him.

He turns back and attacks Percy, fingers hooking into the waist of his trousers and dragging down. His prisoner kicks his legs weakly, but he’s no match for the man who used to be Mr Graves; his cock stands out proudly from his body, curved and heavy. It lists a little to one side, and he wraps his hand around Percy’s cock, rubbing, fondling.

A hot, shameful ache is gathering between Credence’s legs. It trickles down from behind his lungs, warming him from the inside; he wants to touch it, wants to soothe it. He cannot.

“Gellert,” Percy gasps, fingers curling against the wall. “Let him go, let him go, he’s done nothing wrong, just – leave him – _oh!_ – leave him out of this – “

The man – Gellert – smiles, stroking Percy’s cock lazily. “Of course I will, darling,” he coos sweetly, “as soon as you tell me the passcode for the safe.”

Percy shakes his head, mute. Gellert clicks his tongue and pulls his hand away and Percy’s hips arch, trying to follow, stuttering in mid-air.

“Another lesson in humility, perhaps,” Gellert says musingly, and he says something else that Credence doesn’t catch, a magic spell that makes Percy’s face go white and his eyes roll back into his head. For a moment Credence thinks the man has come, until his mouth gasps open and he moans, high and broken. He arches his neck and Credence winces at the noise the man’s head makes slamming into the rough brick wall.

His cock is still hard. It twitches and slaps against his stomach. As Credence watches, a heavy drop of dewy fluid rolls from the tip, slick, running down onto his leg. His trousers slip further down his thighs.

Between his legs, Credence’s cock is fully swollen, pressing uncomfortably against the seams of his trousers. He clenches his jaw and his cock jumps. He could moan even from that slight friction. Although everything inside him is turned away from this terrible scene in front of him he can’t help the hunger rearing up inside his belly; it churns in his gut like a monster. His hands are shaking, even inside Gellert’s spell. His head is swimming, dizzy from something he cannot name.

The spell is released and Percy sags, boneless, held up only by Gellert’s thigh between his and his forearm braced over his neck. Gellert leans close and murmurs something in his ear. Whatever it is that he says, it makes Percy tense, mouth pressing into a hard line. He shakes his head.

“No?” Credence hears Gellert say, sardonic, lilting. He smiles again and Percy gasps in an awful breath, eyes rolling back into his head as his limbs tremble.

Credence loses count of how many times he casts and recasts the spell, watching Percy shake and cry out and then sag in relief against his torturer in a sick parody of passion. Hot shame rises up to his face like a wave, crashing through him, but he can’t help the starbursts of desire bursting between his legs. Every agonized tremor of muscle, even caged inside the magical immobility, makes hot sparks dance up his spine; he has the sensation of hunger, of hollowness. He feels sick, but the sight of Percy wailing against the alley wall stirs up all the dark feelings inside him he thought he’d hidden away.

Gellert shifts, repositioning Percy against the wall. He leans so that Percy has to crane his neck and arch his back to stay standing, thighs obscene and open. His cock is flushed dark.

Gellert undoes his trousers. To Credence’s shock he’s as hard as the man before him; his cock is shorter but the girth makes Credence feel faint to look at.

Credence is very aware of how _empty_ he feels.

“You love this,” Gellert says, waving his fingers again and suddenly his hand is covered in thick slick, shining in the half light. His fingers go between Percy’s legs and he does something, muscles in his forearm rippling, something that makes Percy’s back arch. He moans. There is a timbre to it that makes Credence’s bones vibrate in sympathy.

“No,” Percy gasps. “No, you – _oh_ – _fuck –_ “

Gellert’s wrist twists up and Percy’s thighs spasm, a choked wail bursting from his throat. “There it is,” he murmurs, victorious. His tugs his fingers free with a wet sucking noise, wraps his hand around his cock, pumps himself once, twice.

He nudges Percy’s thighs wider apart, as far as they’ll go within the confines of his ragged trousers. Percy is just shorter, and Gellert makes an annoyed noise and uses his free arm to haul him up, pinned between the brick wall and his body. Percy makes a sound like a dying animal as he sinks down.

Credence’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t help his whimper. He’s hard – _God_ , he’s impossibly hard, the fabric at the front of his trousers tented and damp. He tries to rock himself into the fabric but manages only the smallest of movements. He could sob. He has never felt such a consuming, dizzying hunger before.

Percy’s head lolls back, Gellert sliding up and in until he’s fully seated, hips pressed hard into Percy’s thighs. He grinds, up and _in_ ; the muscles of his legs and ass flex and Percy’s face twists in an angry grimace. He begins moving, gently, rocking up onto his toes and back down until the lines smooth away from Percy’s forehead. Percy’s cock is trapped between the two of them, crushed between Percy’s bare stomach and the rich fabric of Gellert’s coat.

Gellert shifts his grip, pinning Percy’s hands in his up against the wall. Credence thinks they look like a sick joke, holding hands like lovers, Percy’s face twisted and Gellert’s teeth bared. He fucks up and Percy cries out, pleasure-pain; Gellert laughs and does it again, again, faster, harder, until there are tears rolling down Percy’s cheeks and he’s gasping.

“Tell me,” Gellert croons, rolling, pistoning, jabbing the spot inside him relentlessly. “Tell me, Percival, tell me what the passcode is.”

“ _Fuck – fuck – fuck!“_ Credence hears him sob. “Fuck _you_ , oh _God_ , oh _fuck – “_

Gellert clicks his tongue again and he grips Percy’s chin between unforgiving fingers, staring into his eyes. Percy tries to tug away, look away, but there is nowhere for him to go.

Gellert’s face is a mask of smug, cruel concentration, one hand around Percy’s wrists and the other holding his jaw, pinned like a butterfly against a card. As Credence watches, a strand of blonde hair comes loose from the neatly styled tie; a drop of sweat slides down the side of his forehead, dripping onto the collar of his coat.

Percy groans, high and broken, and Gellert laughs again, finding whatever it was he was looking for in his gaze. “That’s it,” he says, warmly, encouragingly, “there you go, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Was it, darling?”

There is a lovely contrast, Credence thinks hazily, in the long lean lines of Percy’s naked body and Gellert, shrouded in his heavy coat. Percy’s nipples are pale, rose petals against cream; his cock is rosy flushed, the head of it shining wetly, ground between his stomach and Gellert’s. There is an echo of riotous colour between his lips, his nipples, his cock, and Credence follows it clumsily like a hymn he only knows half the words to.

Percy cries out and he comes, heavy ropes of come shooting from his heavy cock. Gellert makes a pleased, half-laughing noise. “Filthy slut,” he gasps delightedly, short of breath, “You’ve made such a mess, darling, I’m going to have to make you lick it up – look at you, such a state on your sworn enemy’s prick, coming all over me like a backalley whore – what would Sera say, Percy?” He laughs and Percy flinches away. There is nowhere for him to go, but still he tries to move away. “What would your dear Seraphina say, if she could see you now?”

The rolling of Gellert’s hips grows erratic. He’s got his forehead pressed into the wall of the alley, Percy’s cheek against his. His grip over his wrists is so tight that Credence can almost hear the bones grinding together.

He moans into Percy’s ear, low and dark, hips juddering to a halt and a tremor wracks him from head to toe.

The alley is silent save for their panting breaths.

There are tears slipping from beneath Credence’s eyelids. Horror, disgust, second-hand shame churn through his stomach; but worse still in the heady arousal that makes his hands shake and his world narrow down to focus between his legs. Gorge rises in his throat. Frozen as he is, he can only swallow weakly against it, the burning in his throat a cutting counterpoint to the burning between the cradle of his hips.

Gellert pulls free of Percy with a sickening, squelching sound, Percy slumping against the wall like a marionette with its strings cut.  He tucks himself back into his trousers easily and steps away. He turns to Credence and smiles, triumphant.

“Poor darling,” he says, kindly but for his sharp teeth shining in the golden light of the streetlamps. “Look at you, so patient. What a good boy you’ve been.”

Credence tries his hardest to flinch away, to take a step back, _anything_ , but Gellert’s magic is wrapped around him like a vice. The most he can manage is a weak tremor in his fingertips, his throat swallowing down bile.

He undoes the buttons of Credence’s fly easily and reaches in, wrapping his fingers easily around Credence’s cock. Credence can only clench his shut as Gellert squeezes, swipes his thumb over the head.

Credence is no match for the curse he’s been placed under. Gellert brings him off clinically, efficiently, staring into his face with the cold, amused hunger of a shark. He comes silently, awful shudders wracking his frame as fireworks explode inside his head and his hips, fighting momentarily with the churning in his belly.

Gellert smirks. His hand is covered in Credence’s come and he brings it to his lips, tongue darting out for a taste. He buttons Credence’s trousers again and turns away, back to Percy.

“Run along now, little Squib,” he tosses over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. Suddenly Credence can move again and he tumbles to the ground, knees smacking into the cobblestones with enough force to knock the breath from him. He scrambles back, heaving himself to his feet and runs, every step making the sick in his throat rise, half-blind from terrified, shamed tears.

 _“Obliviate,_ ” he hears a voice say, carelessly.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi at [my tumblr](http://kamikazesoundsociety.tumblr.com/), and send me more kinky prompts! 


End file.
